


[never] too far gone

by 4beit



Category: Maleficent (Disney Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, set during: maleficent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22362562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4beit/pseuds/4beit
Summary: “godmother!”the single word is lifted on the wind, and in that moment,  you are aware of exactly who is making such desperate cry for your help.aurora.
Relationships: Aurora & Maleficent (Disney)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 75





	[never] too far gone

the sun hangs low in the sky on this summer solstice and the unbridled excitement flooded the moors days prior has peaked. it seems that during this event, this one day wherein the sun outlasts the moon - the moors and all its residents are able to look past their bleak and stormy queen. for you, the relentless cheer is overwhelming to a near incapacitating degree. it helps not that once upon a different life, when you naïve to the cruelty of man, you had dreams of bringing stefan to the solstice, so he could see the moors at their most beautiful. 

now, the annual event serves little purpose beyond inspiring a headache that sits deep in your skull. 

refuge comes in the form of shelter in the mountains, crafting the cliffs to aid your ascent. you have sent diaval away, to spend the night as he pleases. he spends far too much time caught in your shadow, doing your bidding – 

[stefan is descending into madness diaval tells you. that has been the message of late, that the king is becoming consumed by the repercussions of his treachery.] 

[good, you say, eyes glittering especially green as your veins pulse with magic.] 

a night amongst the rabble, revelling in their celebrations might do diaval some good. for you, a night curled amongst the highest peaks, where a summer storm swells in its infancy, is all you need to drown out the celebrations. up here, the air is electric and frozen – each breath that you draw is an inhalation of shattered glass into your lungs. the pain affects you neither one way, nor another for breathing is a task not required to the extent that humans require it. such dizzying heights as where you perch would have rendered them gasping and breathless. yet you are as strong and composed as lower footpaths leave you. such a truth brings you comfort. only daival, should he choose to join, can reach these peaks and bears the knowledge of wherein them to find you. 

despite your desire to sleep the solstice through, you find yourself unable. the sun, in its descent glitters across the snow-dusted mountain peaks. the sky is ablaze in the orange and pinks and purples of a summer sunset. it would be brilliantly breath-taking if such sights still held the power to awe you. instead, you focus on the summer storm brewing along the horizon. you can feel its growing strength in the way the temperature shifts around you. there are dark clouds rumbling and roiling - a grey stain across the solstice sky. the promise of such volatility soothes, for you feel far more at home amongst the darkness and the shadows. your own burning anger stands less of a contrast amongst the howling winds and torrential rain. on days like today, wherein the skies were clear, the sun was hot and even the trees were in celebration, you find yourself caught in the disparity of what joy you can no longer feel. 

infuriatingly, it seems that even these heights are not refuge enough. as you lay, winds whirling around you, the sounds of celebration and song drift, whipped up by the wind. you know the words and they leap to your lips, such memories rising – that of dancing with the faeries through the river when you were but a child, and the moon light invoking the unfurling of the solstice flower in all its radiant beauty. the recollections are bitter, and you shift, as if a change of position could be enough to hold the soured memories at bay. 

it isn’t. 

you know that it isn’t. 

and yet, 

yet as you move, you notice a different sound is carried on the wind. this one is not of song or celebration. it is not a chant in the communal language of the moors, nor is it one of the exaltations. no. this is a sound of pain, a cry of fear. for reasons you do not yet understand, the cry stabs deep into your stomach, sparking a gnawing worry alight in your chest. you still, not a hair shifting in the breeze as you listen again. you close your eyes, allowing greater concentration on every whistle of wind that races along the sheer rock faces. you listen, heart battering against your ribs and feel your stomach high in your throat. 

then you hear it, 

a cry so awful and pitched with desperation that you are immediately aware of something awful happening. worse still, as you stand, you hear it again

_“godmother!”_

the single word lifted on the wind, and in that moment, you are aware of exactly who is making such desperate cry for your help. 

aurora. 

you leap from the peak without a moment’s hesitation, despite a thousand racing thoughts threatening to overwhelm. you have heard aurora throughout most of her life. you have heard her cries of hunger when the faeries were still figuring out how do the one task they had be charged with. you have heard her childish anger at not having her way, and the peals of her laughter at diaval in his raven form. you have heard so much from her, the delight and wonder in her voice as she explored the moors under your careful eye. through all of those years, you have never heard her this afraid. 

that, in turn, frightens you. on this night, your fear bleeds into anger the same way it did that first-time soldiers attacked the moors – and that makes you feel powerful. you feel the depths of the magic at your disposal, an endless sea waiting to be called upon. 

not yet. 

you drop through the sky, keenly aware that you have never decided to drop at quite this speed before. wherein a distant past you would have had your wings to guide you, instead it is the trees and the mountains themselves you manipulate to your will. your fall is more of a controlled and rapid descent wherein the manipulation of your surroundings get you to the ground with haste. it is an imperfect strategy, one diaval disapproves of strongly, and you are left with cuts from the speed of your descent as your feet hit the ground. 

yet you care not. 

you are charging forward. 

“diaval-“ yet before his name has fully left your lips, he appears above you, circling and cawing. 

he has heard it too. 

“into a horse.” you say, the curl of glittering magic envelopes the raven and – 

another cry echoes 

_“help, no”_ the words are muffled but pained and wrought with fear all the same _“godmother,”_ you hear, the single word slicing you to the bone. 

you need not say another word as your steed paws at the ground, conveying his own need for urgency. together you charge across the moors, cutting through celebrations and those partaking in them who are clueless. they are drunk on the wine and the cheer and are thus oblivious to the distress happening to their beloved princess. you, however, are not. 

dival moves with lightning speed and you, with a hand intertwined in his mane close your eyes. you have never tried magic at such a distance before and especially not while moving. you dare not try anything complicated, focusing instead on aurora, on making sure she understands that you are coming, that you will not ignore her cries. 

you know the magic works because you are awash in aurora’s fear, in her panic, her pain. you can feel the sharp sting in her cheek from a slap. 

you pull back from the spell, left gasping by the strength of aurora’s tumultuous emotions. your hand tightens in diavals mane and you force deep breathes as fear bleeds into anger anew. rising before you is the wall of thorns and they part as you gallop through them, diaval turning onto the familiar track to the cottage in the woods. it is still and silent this side of the thorns; and in this newfound stillness it seems that aurora’s own emotions are more palpable. her fear gets stronger with every stride diaval takes and soon you are burning with an anger unlike anything that you have felt before. 

you feel diaval reach for your mind, a form of communication he rarely opts to use out of respect for your own discomfort. however now, now it seems there are exceptional circumstances because - 

_“the faeries are at the solstice.”_

you have not the time to analyse that particular piece of information beyond the fact that it means that aurora is alone in the cottage in the woods. alone in the cottage in the wild woods home to all kinds of rabble far more dangerous than that of the moors own residents. murders and crooks; cheats and thieves. you have seen their retreat into the woods, have watched the way they hack at the wall of thorns. there are dangerous men in these woods and the faeries just – 

you seethe. 

your anger deepens to unimaginable depths as the cottage in the woods comes into view through the thinning trees. you see the front door closed, smoke puffing from the chimney. shadows move behind the curtains – shadows that are too built, too tall for faeries or a teenage girl. another scream pierces the night air and you are forced into action at last. 

you slip from diavals back as he is still moving, allowing him to charge forward as you cast 

“into a wolf.” 

he can complain about it later, you decide. his form is hulking, dominant as he fearlessly charges towards the door, snapping it clean through as his weight hits it. 

you are but half a moment behind him. 

“what the-“ a gruff voice startles, and then a second, slightly deeper voice exclaiming 

“gods, it’s her. it’s the devil.” 

the chaos you have stepped into is that of a house being ransacked by a group of ne’er-do-wells. vile men who saw an empty house ripe for the taking and instead found a house with –

aurora. 

your gaze settles on her. there is an arm across her throat from a tall, thin man whose eyes have gone wide with terror. there is a bruise on the swell of cheekbone in the shape of a hand and her knuckles bleeding from the fight she’s put up. her hair is dishevelled and there’s blood trailing down her chin from a deep cut in her lip. her eyes are red rimmed and bright with tears. she is trembling, hands gripping at the mans arm around her neck. 

to your left, the gruff man and his stout, deep-voiced friend find themselves pinned in a corner by a snarling, furious diaval. 

it is easy to let the magic flow through your veins, these fools are stock still in terror and you’ve yet to cast “let her go.” you say, voice rippling with anger. 

the thin man drops his arms to his side. 

it is clear the damage is done, a bruise is already forming along the pale skin of aurora’s neck. 

“come here.” you say to aurora, meeting her gaze, softening for only a moment, only for her. 

she stumbles forward. 

“diaval,” you command “get her outside.” both out of a desire to get aurora to safety and for her to not bear witness to that which you are about to do. 

dutifully, he does as commanded. 

you ache to follow, but your boiling anger will not be left alone. 

the gruff man twitches, his hand coming to the hilt of the sword on his hip “ah, ah,” you say, freezing him where he stands with a simple spell. 

the man’s eyes go wide as he realises he is no longer able to move, nor breathe. 

“i should gut you all, here and now.” you say, a wicked smile spreading across your face. you see the way their gaze drops to your fangs “but that would be too kind a fate.”

the gruff man’s face is reddening with desperation and the others are paralysed with fear “instead,” you continue “i shall leave you with this curse,” the mythos of your powers runs deep in the kingdom and the two who can speak start babbling, pleading, as if such apologise would change your mind. you take a deep breath, allowing the magic swell in your veins and

“for the rest of your days you will not see, touch, taste or smell another living soul. no matter how close you get or how desperate you are, for the rest of your days, however many you have left,” you smile mercilessly at the fear in their eyes, have grim satisfaction in the fact that the thin man has wet himself “you will be alone on this earth, for no one shall miss you, no one shall look for you, no one shall hear your cries. no force on earth shall break this curse.” the magic swells vibrant and green around you, it encapsulates the room entirely before snapping back, seeping into the men “now get out.” you tell them. 

you know they will, for those words will be the last they ever hear. 

you know the days left with their heart still beating shall be few and torturous. 

it is what they deserve. 

you step out of the ruins of the cottage and see diaval on the edge of the woods. aurora is curled against his wolfen form and even at this distance it is clear her shoulders are trembling as she sobs. you are seized again with the visceral anger, yet with the men horrified and stumbling away, into the depths of the woods, aurora is your only focus. your anger melts into something less tangible, a desire to do and fix and hold. 

“aurora,” you say, once you are close enough to speak softly without startling her “they are gone. you are safe.” it is a promise, and you hope, a comfort. 

“godmother,” aurora chokes, unfurling her arms from diaval’s shifted form and looking at you “you came.” she says, standing, wavering on her feet for a moment. 

you ache deeply at her words “of course i came.” you reply, your words steady in the storm of aurora’s own emotions “you called for me.” 

aurora stumbles towards you, and you have mere seconds to brace for the way her arms wrap around you. she grips you tight, holding on as if she means to never let go. there is comfort in her grasp, in the way she presses into you without hesitation. all the same, you are stiff for only a second – such contact is still unexpected - before you curl your arms around her gently – she is injured you remember, through means you do not wish to know. 

[for that knowledge may make you regret not gutting the men outright.] 

she cries into your gown and you hold her for long minutes. her shoulders tremble, her chest heaves and you are once again reminded of the dangers of man and their greed. you watch diaval pad away into the shadows of the trees, no doubt off the follow the men and haunt them with rumbling growls and echoing howls from a beast they cannot see. it is better than they deserve, but now that aurora is in your arms, you will not leave her. 

when aurora’s cries have gentled, you say “i will take you to the moors.” for you know it is the place aurora feels most at home, where she feels the safest. 

aurora sniffles, voice thick, face ruddy “what about my aunties? if they come back and see the cottage-“ 

the faeries. 

one task and they, 

you exhale, pushing that anger aside “do not worry about them.” you say “or the cottage. it will be mended.” 

the spell is simple to cast, you do so without even looking. instead you wrap an arm around aurora’s shoulder and guide her towards the wall of thorns, the house enveloped in a green as begins to mend itself. away from that and beside you, aurora walks slowly, her breath still uneven and shallow. 

“we are in no rush.” you tell her – the last thing you want is for aurora to be injured further in needless haste. 

despite the ongoing celebrations of the solstice, you know of a glade within the moors where the rabble will not venture. it is to this sanctuary, and the willow tree looming over the river, that you guide aurora. it takes time, she is exhausted and breathless, taking long seconds to lean against the wall of thorns, one hand gripping yours. you revel in her trust in you – for here, by your side, aurora is in no danger. you can move at her pace as she needs. 

[it is unnerving, this all-encompassing and deeply rooted affection you have for this child.]

[this cursed child.] 

through the long hanging branches of the willow tree and into the darkness within, you guide aurora to the edge of the riverbank “sit,” you murmur.

“you’re not leaving?” aurora asks, panic threaded through her words as she turns her head to look at you, her eyes wild. 

“no,” you assure her “i’m not leaving you, beastie.” aurora sniffles and you add “i am just gathering supplies.” 

this willow is your hollow, the closest thing you have to a home. it is where you healed after the violent loss of your wings and you find comfort in the silence of its branches even now. it calms you now that the heat of the rescue is fading, and you are left increasingly unsure of how to best help aurora. 

“supplies?” aurora asks. 

“to help heal you.” you explain, because it seems to make sense to say what you are doing. 

“oh,” aurora says, voice small, and then “they hit me.” she says. 

you burn. 

“i tried to escape,” she explains “while they were ransacking. i just wanted to get outside. i thought if i hid they would find me, so i was going to run into the woods, to the moors and-“ she gasps. 

“aurora,” you say, cutting through her panic with as much calm as you can muster “look at me.” her eyes, glittering still with unshed tears, meet yours with no hesitations “you did the right thing.” you tell her. 

“they pushed me around, laughing.” her words are thin, wavering “saying how they didn’t expect to find me in the house.” 

for something to do with your hands, you soak the leaves you’ve collected in the eddy curling along the bank, holding them there for long seconds “they will never hurt you again.” you promise “no one will.” you lean back away from the waters edge, and reach out, with a hand for aurora’s own – the one with the knuckles split and bleeding “not while i am around.” 

to this, aurora says nothing, watching as you place the soaking leaves across the wounds to her hands. you hold them there, gentle in your pressure as you murmur soft words in the language of the moors, calling out for the healing powers of the willow to come to your aide. when the magic flows, it is not green, but golden and vibrant. it curls around aurora’s hand, along the soaked leaves and lingers for long seconds. 

when it finally fades, you pull the leaves away, one by one “there,” you say “still sore, but the worst of the damage is gone.” 

aurora blinks, flexing her fingers gingerly “thank you.” she says finally, she swallows hard and the silence is heavy with words she is yet to say, so you bite your tongue. 

you wait. 

“i knew you’d come.” aurora says “i knew if i called out for you, you would come. you would save me.” you know not how her calls reached you, magic you’re sure but not one you understand “you always protect me.”

_always._

your heart aches at that word, for there is so much aurora does not know. there is a fate you have doomed her too that she is yet to meet, the curse that you bestowed upon her is looming every closer. she is less than a year from sixteen. less than a year from descending into a sleep like death. 

you must tell her, 

and yet – 

_“you always protect me.”_ those words ring in your ears, and you find yourself unable to lose them, and the girl that said them. 

“can i stay in the moors tonight?” aurora asks, breaking your thoughts “with you?” 

it is not something you have allowed before, tonight however, 

“if it is what you want,” you say “you may.” 

“i don’t want to be alone.” aurora admits. 

“then you won’t be.” you promise, “i will not leave your side.” 

a distant howl can be heard, and grim satisfaction settles in your spine for at least those men will suffer. 

“can i lay here?” aurora asks, “by the water?” 

“of course,” you tell her, ready to conjure something like a pillow but then – 

then aurora’s head is in your lap and she’s laying on her side as if this is the most natural thing in the world. 

you exhale, a hand tentatively coming to her hair, stroking through it with slow movements “rest, beastie.” you coax “you’ll be safe here tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> apparently all the other stories i'm working on have been put on pause while i write maleficent fic. i have no regrets. and, thank you to everyone who kudoed and commented on my last story. y'all are the best.


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